The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes by Denis O. Smith

Author:Denis O. Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2016-08-02T04:00:00+00:00

The North Walk Mystery

Violent murder will always excite both horror and fascination in the public mind. When the victim of the crime is a well-known public figure, the case becomes a sensation and leaves little space in the newspapers of the day for any other subject. Such was the mysterious death of Sir Gilbert Cheshire Q.C., senior bencher of the Inner Temple and the most eminent criminal lawyer of his day. But the matter never came to trial and those involved were reluctant to discuss it, so that despite the many newspaper columns devoted to it at the time, and the countless number of articles written since, there are some facts in connection with the case which have never been fully reported and I have even seen it described as an ‘unsolved mystery’. Having been privileged to be present during the investigation of the crime, I can state categorically that this description is false and it is my hope that the following account will clear the matter up once and for all.

It was a dark evening, late in the year. The morning had provided a brief glimpse of watery sunshine, but the weather had taken a turn for the worse about lunch-time and a dense fog had rolled across the city, filling every street and alley-way with its thick, greasy coils. I was glad on such an evening to be in the warm seclusion of our sitting-room, where a fire blazed merrily in the grate.

Sherlock Holmes had been seated at the table for several hours, occupied in pasting newspaper extracts into his commonplace books and carefully cross-indexing each entry. Eventually, as the clock was striking nine, he put down his pasting-brush with a weary sigh, stood up from the table and stretched himself.

‘So,’ said he after a moment, turning to me, as he rubbed his hands together before the fire; ‘you have seen your friend, Anstruther, and he has told you that he is postponing his holiday until the spring.’

‘He hopes for better weather then,’ I replied. ‘But I do not recall mentioning the matter to you, Holmes.’

‘Indeed you did not, Watson, but it is clear, nonetheless.’

‘I cannot imagine how that can be, for he only informed me of his decision this afternoon – unless, of course, you heard it from someone else.’

Holmes chuckled. ‘I have not left these rooms all day,’ said he. ‘Fortunately, the materials for a simple little deduction lie conveniently upon the table by your elbow.’

I glanced at the table. An empty glass, a saucer, my pipe and a book I had been reading were all I could see there. My face must have betrayed the puzzlement I felt, for my friend chuckled anew.

‘In the saucer is the end of a cigar,’ said he, ‘and by the side of it lies your old copy of Clarendon’s History of the Great Rebellion. To anyone familiar with your habits, the inference is plain.’

‘I cannot see it.’

‘No? You went out at lunch-time and returned a while later, smoking a Havana cigar.

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